The Twelve Days Of Christmas
by BenAddiction
Summary: This is my take on the twelve days of Christmas. Please review (please be kind). There will be slash in the final chapter, if you don't like, don't read. Rated T. Some of the gifts may be a little tenuous, apologies for that. :) This is my first foray into any kind of mystery, I'm not sure how it will work out. Please enjoy. This is now complete.
1. On the first day

A/N: So here is day one of my twelve days of Christmas. I appreciate that different countries may have different versions of this song and some countries may not have even heard of it (type it into your search engine of choice and take a look, it's fascinating), I also appreciate that some people may not agree with the dates of the twelve days, but this is my take on it, and I need the twelfth day to fall on twelfth night. I've almost finished writing day two, and I already know what gifts are going to be given for the other days. I will apologise right at the outset and say that some of them may be a little tenuous, but please don't hate me for that.

Warning & Disclaimer: There will be some slash in the final chapter (nothing too graphic), if you don't like, don't read. I don't own any of this, wish I did. :)

Please enjoy!

On the 1st day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

26th December – Boxing Day.

The tension in 221B Baker Street was palpable as consulting detective Sherlock Holmes faced off against Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan. Using his height and deep baritone voice to full effect Sherlock stared down the sergeant as he demanded that she place the skull back where she had found it, whilst simultaneously ignoring every word she uttered.

'Sherlock! If you have information about the murders, you need to tell us!' yelled DI Lestrade, 'God, where's John when we need him?' he muttered quietly to himself as he stood up from the chair he had been lounging in.

Sherlock turned to the inspector and replied, 'he's spending a few days at his sister's. I don't understand everyone's preoccupation with his whereabouts. I had to put up with Mycroft earlier, questioning me about John. He's a full grown adult male for God's sake. He is perfectly capable of taking care of himself!'

'Yeah, it's not John we're concerned about, mate.' answered Greg as he regarded the younger man with fond exasperation.

Sherlock huffed indignantly in response, walked over to his desk, picked up some papers that were lying there and turned back to the older man. Holding the sheets of paper out in front of himself he walked back to the inspector. 'This should be everything you need, even you should be able to work it out from this.' he said as he handed over the collection of papers in his hand. 'Now go! Go away!'

Greg smiled in amusement at the childishness displayed by the young consulting detective as he turned to leave, gathering the other police officers as he went. Walking through the door, he walked straight into the owner of the house, Mrs. Hudson, almost knocking her over.

'Mrs. Hudson, are you okay, I'm most dreadfully sorry.' Greg apologised profusely as he held the elderly woman in his arms keeping her upright.

'Oh dear, silly me. I'm quite alright dear, though it's been many years since I've been in the arms of such a lovely young man such as yourself.' Mrs. Hudson replied as she giggled a little in embarrassment at her predicament.

Greg smiled charmingly as he led her towards John's chair, helping her to sit down, then raising her hand to his lips, he placed a small kiss to the back of her hand as he said, 'well, it's been a long time since I held such a beautiful woman in my arms Mrs. H.'

'Oh get away with you! I'm old enough to be your mother.' she replied with a smile. Greg returned the smile with a cheeky one of his own, his warm brown eyes sparkling in amusement.

The banter between the two of them was suddenly broken by a loud huff from across the room. Turning they saw Sherlock standing next to the window, his arms folded, a grumpy look on his face. Realising he finally had their attention, he asked, 'well, I assume there was a reason you came up to the flat, other than to make a fool of yourself over a man young enough, as you say, to be your son, Mrs. Hudson?'

'Sherlock!' Greg looked shocked as he heard the way Sherlock spoke to his landlady.

'It's quite alright, he's just missing John. He always gets like this when John's away. He doesn't really mean it.' said Mrs. Hudson.

'He should know better, Mrs. Hudson.' replied Greg.

'Well thank you dear. Oh, but I nearly forgot, I found this package on the doorstep when I came home just now.' Mrs. Hudson said as she handed over a parcel wrapped in plain brown paper to Sherlock.

Sherlock took the parcel and immediately began to examine it closely. Holding it in one hand told him the approximate weight (not heavy enough to be a bomb), while he took note of the label (hand delivered of course, royal mail don't work on Boxing Day), printed on a generic laser printer so not particularly helpful. The wrapping was a little more helpful as it had been done by whoever sent the parcel and showed the person to be patient, caring and precise.

Carefully, he placed the package on the table and observed the parcel from every possible angle, kneeling down at eye level he leant forward and took a large sniff but could not detect any unusual odours. There appeared to be very little about the package, other than the precise way it had been wrapped that would help him discover the identity of the sender, so finally, pulling his knife from the stack of letters it was currently holding, he placed the point into a gap between the tape holding the brown paper in place.

Lestrade put his hand on Sherlock's arm, 'Don't you think we should check it out first, get the bomb squad down here to take a look at it?' he asked.

'No need, Moriarty is dead, remember. I doubt anyone else would be clever enough to come close.' Sherlock replied as he slid the knife through the wrapping. Pulling open the paper, a plain black picture frame was revealed.

Sherlock picked up the frame and turned it over, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the picture held within the frame. After glancing at it, he handed the frame to the inspector who took it and gasped when he saw what was depicted in the picture. 'It's a pear tree! Look, there's a pear hanging from one of the branches, and, what's that peeking out through the leaves?' Greg exclaimed.

'I believe it's a partridge, going by its shape and the pattern on the feathers, inspector.' replied Sherlock as he picked up the note he had found underneath the frame.

'It's beautiful, what's it done in? Is that pencil?' asked Greg, an amazed tone to his voice.

'Hmm? Oh yes, I suppose it is.' replied Sherlock distractedly. Opening the note, he read it silently to himself, his eyebrows rising ever higher as he read it to the end.

Lestrade finally noticing Sherlock's distraction, looked up from the drawing and saw that Sherlock was immersed in the note. Plucking it from the consulting detective's long fingers, Greg read it out loud.

'**My dear Sherlock, please forgive my desire for anonymity at this time. I do not yet feel ready to reveal myself to you. I hope however that you will appreciate my first gift to you. Always, Your True Love**.'

'Oh my!' stated Mrs. Hudson as she placed a hand over her mouth in surprise, 'it's just like the song, you know, The 12 Days of Christmas.'

'Yeah, that's exactly what it is, a partridge in a pear tree is the first gift, isn't it.' replied Greg as the shock he had felt when he first read the note was beginning to wear off slightly. 'So who do you think it is?' as he asked he turned to see Sherlock standing with his hands raised to his face in his typical thinking pose.

Realising that he had been asked a question and quickly deducing the content of the said question, Sherlock replied 'well there are a couple of possibilities, but I may need more data.'

'Oh I don't think that will be a problem, mate. There's a reason the song is called the _twelve days_ of Christmas. I doubt this is the last we've heard from Your True Love!' Greg said with a grin.


	2. On the second day

On the 2nd day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

27th December

Sherlock woke up to his shoulder being shaken lightly.

'Sherlock, Sherlock dear, wake up.' Mrs. Hudson called out as she shook his shoulder for a third time.

Turning over, Sherlock fell with a thump as he hit the floor next to the sofa he had fallen asleep on the night before.

'Oh dear. Sherlock dear, are you alright?' fussed Mrs. Hudson as she fluttered around.

'I'm fine Mrs. Hudson, don't fuss!' replied Sherlock as he stood up and brushed himself down, running a hand across his face in an effort to wake himself up. 'Why did you wake me up? I finally do as you and John ask and sleep, and you're waking me up at some ridiculous time in the morning for no valid reason that I can see!' he grumbled tiredly, having finally fallen asleep after being awake for over forty hours.

'I'm sorry dear, but it's almost noon and another of those packages have come, just like yesterday.' Mrs. Hudson answered holding out a package wrapped once again in plain brown paper with a printed label.

Taking the parcel from his landlady, Sherlock went through the same ritual as the previous day. However when he sniffed the parcel he thought he detected something a little odd. Picking up his knife, he once again slit open the brown paper, (the wrapping was just as meticulous as the previous day). Sherlock peeled away the paper to reveal that day's gift.

Frowning slightly, Sherlock slowly, and carefully lifted the lid of the plain brown box and looked at its contents. The box was almost three quarters full of birds feathers, and nestled in the centre was a button style badge baring a picture of a dove of peace complete with an olive branch in it's beak. Sherlock raised his head and stared at Mrs. Hudson with an expression of confusion crossing his face. Then looking back down, he lifted the box to reveal the accompanying note.

Mrs. Hudson glanced down at the contents of the package initially confused at the sight of the feathers, though a smile rapidly spread across her fine doll like features when she realised what the image was, on the badge. Then, noticing the note in Sherlock's hand, she said, 'Oh my, what does the note say, Sherlock dear?'

Realising that he wouldn't get away with ignoring his elderly landlady, Sherlock cleared his throat, took a deep breath and began to read the note out loud.

**'My dear Sherlock, please accept my second gift to you. The feathers were collected over several months from where they have fallen to earth. No birds were harmed in this endeavour. They are for use in your many and varied experiments. The badge was bought as a pair, please know that I hold its mate close to my heart. Always, Your True Love.'**

Once Sherlock had finished, he stole a quick glance at his landlady, looking rapidly away when he noticed the tears shimmering in her eyes. He placed the note on top of the package and cleared his throat once more.

Pulling a lace handkerchief from the pocket of her cardigan, Mrs. Hudson dabbed delicately at her eyes as she reached out one hand to lightly touch the note almost reverently, as though it were an object of great beauty.

'You have quite an admirer Sherlock dear.' twittered Mrs. Hudson with a girlish giggle.

Sherlock cleared his throat again as he looked away to the side. 'Yes, well, don't you have some baking to do or something, Mrs. Hudson?' Sherlock snarled in embarrassment.

'Well there's no need to be so rude dear.' replied the elderly woman with a slight huff, as she turned around and walked out of the flat to go back downstairs.

Sherlock frowned slightly as he thought briefly about how John would be upset with him if he knew how he had spoken to their landlady, before deciding that as his flatmate was currently elsewhere, it wasn't his problem.

The ringing of his mobile 'phone quickly brought him out of his reverie. Swooping down, he picked up his 'phone and answered 'Sherlock Holmes speaking.'

Several minutes later, Sherlock ended the call on his mobile as a huge grin spread across his face. Lestrade had a new case for him, and it sounded interesting, at least an eight. Swirling around to pick up his coat and scarf, he caught sight of the box containing the badge and feathers. Reaching down, he plucked the badge from its feathery nest and examined the image on the front. The artist in him could appreciate the simple lines used to make such a universally recognised image. Straightening up he pulled on his long dark coat, then, before tying his scarf around his neck, he carefully pinned the badge to his lapel. Walking up to the mirror over the fire, he checked to ensure it was straight, before sweeping out of the flat and down the stairs to the street below, his arm already extended as he hailed a taxi to take him to his next adventure.


	3. On the third day

A/N: Thank you so much for the lovely reviews I have received so far for this story. I am overwhelmed, it's wonderful. I hope you continue to enjoy this story, and please keep the reviews coming, they really do help. You're all amazing! :-D Hope you have a very Happy New Year. All the best for 2014!

On the 3rd day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

28th December

The sound of fingers drumming against the table was loud in the silence of the flat as Sherlock sat in the kitchen waiting the required minutes for the reaction between the feather and 50ml of the concentrated sulphuric acid to take place. Glancing at his brand new stopwatch (a Christmas present from John, handed over before he left for his sister's house), he saw that there was still fifteen minutes left until he could continue with the next stage of his experiment. Rising to his feet, Sherlock decided to leave the feather/acid mixture for a while and devote some time and considerable brain power to the mystery of his apparent 'true love'. He walked to the sofa and laid down, raising his hands to his lips in typical thinking pose.

Searching through his memories of the previous day, he brought to the forefront of his mind the various interactions he'd had with all of the people he had spoken to, once he left the flat yesterday lunchtime.

First was the taxi driver, nothing much of interest there. Though, Sherlock thought, if he had to listen to any more of the man's interminable droning about his family, the state of the economy, and the dreadful weather, there was a strong possibility that a truly spectacular murder would be committed. Now that would be interesting, but no matter. Move on. This was achieved with a sharp flick of his wrist as Sherlock placed the taxi driver into his recycling bin, which he would empty at the end of his time in his mind palace.

Second on the list was Detective Sergeant Donovan. "_Ah Sally_" thought Sherlock with a smirk. He would give thanks to every deity in the known universe and beyond if he could be certain that his secret admirer was not the dreadfully dull Sally Donovan. Putting his disgust aside at the terrifying thought, he focused his memory on her reaction to his presence at the crime scene. There didn't appear to be any difference in her usual demeanour when he arrived. She was as rude and thoroughly obnoxious as she always was when speaking to him. However, could it all be an elaborate pretence to put him off the scent? Sherlock gave a violent shudder as an old memory surfaced, of his first day in nursery. A small girl had come up behind him and pulled on his curly hair, when he had turned around, she had kissed him, giggled, and then ran back to her nanny. Sherlock had been mortified, and further horrified to see his older brother standing next to their own nanny, laughing heartily at the disgusted expression on Sherlock's face.

Is that what Sally was doing, verbally abusing him instead of pulling his hair like the little girl all those years ago?

Before Sherlock could give any more thought to the matter, he heard a persistent beeping coming from the kitchen. Ruthlessly pushing the memory of that day in nursery into his deepest, darkest dungeon, he exited his mind palace, and sat up, swung his legs off the sofa and stood upright. Walking over to the kitchen table, he pushed the button on the stopwatch to silence the alarm, before sitting down in front of the microscope, and pulling the container of feather/acid mush and a new box of slides towards himself. Placing his goggles over his eyes, he began to carefully and meticulously prepare his slides of mush for the microscope.

Once he had the slides prepared to his satisfaction, he removed his goggles, took a deep calming breath, placed his first slide under the microscope and leant over.

Sherlock had just put his third slide in place, when the silence of the flat was disturbed by the sound of footsteps moving rapidly up the stairs from the floor below.

Quickly deducing the owner of the footsteps, Sherlock turned in his seat and said, 'Good morning Inspector, why are you here? I gave you everything you need to catch the perpetrator of the latest crime when I saw you at the scene yesterday. Though in all honesty, how you missed the glaringly obvious is beyond even my comprehension.'

'Yeah, thanks!' replied Lestrade sarcastically. 'I need to take a statement, we need everything in writing and above board these days, and I know that without John around, we'll never get you to come in for something as mundane as a statement. When is he due back anyway?'

Sherlock huffed sulkily as he answered the older man, 'I'm not sure, I had a text from him yesterday evening, apparently something's come up and he isn't sure when he will be returning to the flat.'

'That's too bad, mate.' replied Lestrade. Then, handing Sherlock a package neatly wrapped in plain brown paper, he said 'Oh, before I forget, I saw Mrs. Hudson on my way in, she was just about to come up here. Another parcel was delivered apparently. Said that I'd bring it up, save her legs, the poor woman. It can't be good for her you know, traipsing up and down these stairs every day at her age.'

Sherlock stopped listening as soon as he took hold of the parcel, focusing all of his attention instead on the box in his hands. The wrapping was just as meticulous as the previous two packages, the only difference was that the word 'Fragile' had been stamped onto the paper in several places prior to the package being wrapped.

Standing up, Sherlock placed the parcel on the table and went through his, now familiar, ritual of checking the box. Once this was complete, he carefully removed the wrapping and lifted the lid of the container within.

A frown appeared on Sherlock's brow as he looked down into the box, then lifting it carefully, he handed the box to Lestrade and removed the note from underneath. Greg gaped at the contents of the box in surprise, looking down he saw three hen's eggs resting on a bed of cotton wool.

Reading the note aloud for Lestrade's benefit, Sherlock said **'My dear Sherlock, please find enclosed my third gift for you. Ask Mrs. Hudson (nicely!) to use them to make an omelette for you for breakfast. They were purchased fresh from the supermarket today. The eggs are not to be used in any experiment! I can't have my Sherlock wasting away. Always, Your True** **Love.'**

Lestrade placed the box carefully on the table and looked up at the young consulting detective. Grinning widely, he remarked 'Well, isn't that sweet! Someone obviously cares for you. I'll just pop downstairs and ask Mrs. Hudson to come up. Then you can ask her to make you a nice omelette.'

Sherlock frowned as he watched the inspector go downstairs to fetch his landlady, "_who is doing this?_" he thought, "_and what the hell has three eggs got to do with Christmas, surely that's Easter?_"

His thoughts were quickly interrupted by Lestrade's return as he bounded back up the stairs.

'Mrs. Hudson's on her way up. You know, I was wondering how your secret admirer was going to do the 'Three French Hens', it's certainly a novel approach to the gifts.' Greg said as he entered the flat, completely missing the look of comprehension flash across Sherlock's face at his words.


	4. On the fourth day

A/N: Happy New Year! :) With less than seven hours to go until series 3 begins, hopefully it will be a good year :-) Anyway, when I began writing this chapter, I quickly realised that the idea I had for day 4 was absolutely awful, truly dreadful. Then along came the immensely talented Johnsarmylady (read her stories, they're brilliant!) with a different approach, and while I didn't (strictly speaking) use her excellent idea in it's entirety, the idea of a puzzle and the use of birds within the puzzle struck a chord. So THANK YOU JAL, you're a life saver! :-D

Please continue reviewing, I really do appreciate them, thank you so much! Please enjoy :-)

On the 4th day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

29th December

The ringing 'phone had Sherlock racing through the flat from the bathroom and diving towards the desk that currently held more paper than was probably safe. Searching through the papers as they were thrown haphazardly to the floor in frustration, Sherlock finally found his mobile just as the ringing tone stopped. Growling in impotent rage, he opened the call log to find that the missed call (the third in the last five minutes) was an unknown number. When the mobile rang for a fourth time, Sherlock connected the call and raised the 'phone to his ear without bothering to check the number on the screen.

'Sherlock Holmes' stated Sherlock, his deep baritone voice reverberating through the empty flat.

The upper class tones of his older brother replied, 'Sherlock, an issue has arisen. I need you to come to the office, this 'phone line may not be secure.'

Sherlock groaned and pulled the 'phone from his ear to look at the screen. Above the words "The British Government" was a photo, that Sherlock had found during a random surf of the internet, of a triple layer chocolate cake oozing with chocolate flavour butter cream. Sherlock smirked briefly as he thought of what his brother's reaction would be to the photo being used to depict his telephone number in Sherlock's mobile phone. The smirk soon turned to a grimace when he could still hear his brother's voice calling his name.

Returning the 'phone to his ear he answered, 'What do you want, Mycroft? I'm busy!'

'No. You're not!' Mycroft replied, the anger and frustration evident in his voice. 'I need you to be sensible and for once in your life, to do as you are told, Sherlock Holmes!'

'I can't possibly leave the flat, I am much too busy!' Sherlock replied in a petulant tone of voice.

The sound of grinding teeth could clearly be heard over the 'phone line before Mycroft finally gave a weary sigh and said 'very well Sherlock, I will be at Baker Street directly, if, when I arrive, you are no longer on the premises, you WILL be sorry! Do you understand me?'

'Goodbye Mycroft.' answered Sherlock as he ended the connection, and tossed the 'phone back on to the desk.

Running his hands through his dark hair, Sherlock shook out his curls as he walked over to his chair. Picking up his violin and bow, he checked the tuning, (still okay from when he had been playing it earlier before his bodily requirements needed to be met). He raised the instrument to his neck and slowly drew the bow across the strings, producing a long drawn out melancholy note. Losing interest, he lowered the instrument, picked up his cloth and wiped it clean of rosin, then loosening his bow, he placed them both in his case and returned it to his bedroom.

Walking back to the living room, he paused in the doorway to the kitchen. His feather experiments were on a temporary hiatus after he had somehow melted one of his conical flasks, Sherlock still wasn't entirely certain how he had managed that.

Hearing the door open downstairs, Sherlock moved rapidly to the sofa, and laying down he adopted his thinking pose. Footsteps ascended the stairs at a leisurely pace accompanied by the regular tap-tap of an umbrella. Opening the door, Mycroft stood at the entrance to the flat, and looked down at his younger brother, balancing a folder and a parcel wrapped in plain brown paper in one hand, while the other held his ever present umbrella.

'Don't pretend to be thinking, little brother, you know me better than that.' drawled Mycroft as he walked across to John's chair and sat down. 'I found this package on your doorstep addressed to you. You really should learn to take better care of your things, you know Sherlock.'

Upon hearing this, Sherlock catapulted himself to an upright position, strode over to the older man, and snatched the package out of his hand. 'Give me that!' Sherlock snarled before turning his back on his brother to begin his examination of the package. It was certainly considerably heavier than the previous parcels, though the wrapping was just as neat.

Clearing a space on the desk, he placed the package down. Carefully, Sherlock removed the paper, and lifted the lid of the box. Reaching inside, he pulled out a sealed clear plastic bag containing several jigsaw pieces. Putting the bag to one side for a moment, he picked up the accompanying note and started reading, a small smile crossing his face.

During Sherlock's preoccupation with the mysterious package, Mycroft had stood up and moved over to stand beside his brother. Eyes widening briefly in surprise when he saw what the parcel had contained, he quickly took advantage of the younger man's distraction and removed the note from Sherlock's hand. Showing remarkable speed for someone who professes such a dislike for legwork, Mycroft whirled away from his younger brother before Sherlock was fully aware of what had just taken place. Lunging forwards, Sherlock grabbed his brother's shoulder as he attempted to prevent Mycroft from escaping. The resultant tussle finally ended with both men sitting on the floor next to each other catching their breath, the note still firmly clutched in Mycroft's hand.

Sherlock pushed himself up with an irritated huff and made his way back over to the bag of jigsaw pieces on the desk and said sulkily, 'Fine, read it, if you must!'

Standing up, and calmly brushing down his suit, Mycroft walked over to John's chair and sat down. Straightening out the note, he began to read. **'My dear Sherlock, I have sent you as my fourth gift, 200 pieces of a jigsaw. In total, it has 1000 pieces and has been made especially for you. In addition to my future gifts to you, I will be sending a further 200 pieces each time until the puzzle is complete. Enjoy, my love. Always, Your True Love.'**

Looking across at his younger brother, Mycroft raised his eyebrow in silent query. Sherlock glanced down at the, now open, bag of jigsaw pieces before replying, 'I've been receiving gifts from a secret admirer since Boxing Day. Apparently they follow the song 'The Twelve Days of Christmas', do you know it?'

'I've heard of it, yes. So this would be day 4?' answered Mycroft as he watched his brother put some of the pieces together.

'Hmm, yes.' replied Sherlock distractedly as he worked on the jigsaw.

Looking closer, Mycroft realised that although most of them were the inner pieces, there were some edges and most of them fitted together, leaving only a couple of dozen to be placed elsewhere when the rest arrived. One piece stood out as rather curious. The majority of the pieces were mostly brown in colouring, indeed they appeared to depict a song thrush, but the one that stood out was not brown at all, in fact most of it was a deep vibrant red. Pulling himself from his contemplation of the jigsaw pieces, Mycroft finally remembered why he had come to visit his younger brother in the first place, and looking around he eventually located the folder he had brought and bent down to retrieve it from where it has been thrown during their brief scuffle. Placing it on the coffee table he picked up his umbrella and walked over to the door.

'I need you to take a look at the file I brought Sherlock, it's a matter of national security, and if you have time to play with jigsaws, then you are obviously not busy. I will expect your deductions by the end of the day. DON'T make me force you!' Mycroft said as he opened the door to the flat.

'Busy! Go away!' Sherlock replied without bothering to look up from his task.

Mycroft shook his head in frustration as he walked down the stairs and out into the street to the government car waiting for him, hoping that once Sherlock had finished all he could with the jigsaw, he would be just bored enough to look through the file waiting on the coffee table.


	5. On the fifth day

A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, I was caught up watching (and re-watching) the first episode of Sherlock series 3. I won't give anything away, but it was brilliant! :-D

I hope you're all enjoying this story, if you are, please let me know in a review. They mean such a lot to me. :)

As ever, I still don't own Sherlock, I just write about him! :-) Please enjoy. :-)

On the 5th day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

30th December

Mrs. Hudson stood in her tenant's kitchen. The door to the fridge open and a black plastic bin liner by her side. Grimacing, she pulled out a clear plastic bag from the salad drawer. Peering at it, her face paled as she realised the contents were not related to any salad she would wish to eat. A deep voice coming from directly behind her made her jump in surprise.

'Put the toes back, Mrs. Hudson.' said Sherlock as he walked into the kitchen.

'Oh! Sherlock, you made me jump.' replied the elderly woman a little breathlessly as she dropped the offending bag back into the salad compartment, her hand rising to her chest in an unconscious effort to slow her heart rate. 'I thought you'd gone out dear.'

'I'm just about to, but I would be much obliged if you didn't throw away my experiments, Mrs. Hudson.' Sherlock answered, walking to his chair and picking up his coat that had been carelessly thrown over its back two days before.

'I'm not your housekeeper, as you very well know, but your fridge was beginning to smell. It can't be hygienic, dear. Think what poor John would say if he saw the state of it.' replied Mrs. Hudson.

'Yes, well, John isn't here, is ...' Sherlock broke off what he was about to say as he became distracted by the view of the street below the flat. As he looked down through the window, he noticed someone walking up to 221 carrying what appeared to be a brown package. Whirling around, he dashed from the flat and ran quickly down the stairs taking them two, sometimes three steps at a time. Pulling open the front door, Sherlock noted that a package wrapped in plain brown paper was now lying on the pavement next to the door. Looking up, Sherlock quickly realised that the street was deserted, and ignoring the package for the moment, he ran along the street to the corner where a sea of people blocked his view as shoppers intent on the latest bargains in the post Christmas sales were making their way to the tube station nearby. Realising that he didn't stand a chance of finding anyone in the crowds, Sherlock turned and made his way back to Baker Street, picking up the parcel as he entered the house. Once he was back in his flat, he placed the parcel on the coffee table and sat down, barely noticing Mrs. Hudson who was hovering in the doorway to the kitchen a little uncertainly.

Raising his fingers to his lips, Sherlock closed his eyes to better aid his visual memory of the deliverer of the package before him. Concentrating on his recent memory, he didn't hear the door to the flat close softly behind Mrs. Hudson as she made her way quietly downstairs to her own kitchen to make herself a nice soothing cup of tea, and bake some of those biscuits that Sherlock was so fond of.

Sherlock pushed his mind back to what he had seen just a few minutes before. The person, it was not clear whether it had been a male or female as whoever it was, appeared to have worn a lot of bulky clothes to disguise their body shape. So possibly a woman? Or maybe not, maybe he/she wanted Sherlock to think it was a woman by apparently disguising him/herself, so possibly a man? Or maybe it was a double bluff and it was actually a woman? Sherlock groaned in frustration at the growing conundrum. Putting the question of gender to one side for a moment, Sherlock decided to focus on other aspects of the person. The height was a little difficult to judge as Sherlock had been looking down on the subject from above so that was no help. The person's walk was interesting, it was obviously disguised, but there was something about it that Sherlock was sure he recognised, he just couldn't put his finger on it. The answer was right in front of him, he was certain of it, he just couldn't see it. Placing all of the information he currently had, into a room he had set up marked 'twelve days', he exited his mind palace and picked up his mobile to send a text to his brother, "I need all CCTV footage of Baker Street for the last two hours SH"

Five minutes later he received a reply that made his eyes narrow in anger and frustration "CCTV not working on Baker Street MH"

Growling in anger, he looked at the package in front of him. Having carried the box up the stairs, Sherlock had quickly realised that this particular package was considerably heavier than the previous four packages. In fact it was probably heavier than all of the other packages combined. His ritual of checking the parcel elicited no useful information, so taking great care, Sherlock opened the package. On top, in a sealed clear plastic bag, were the next lot of jigsaw pieces which Sherlock placed to one side to look at later. Sherlock then opened the box and looked inside. His eyes widening in surprise as he saw the gift. Reaching in to the box he pulled out a gold bell that was roughly four inches in length, listening to it chime as he lifted it up. Placing it back in the box he pulled out another slightly larger bell, this one giving a deeper chime. In all there were five bells in the box, each one slightly larger than it's neighbour. Ensuring they were all safely tucked into the box, Sherlock lifted it up and picked up the note lying underneath. As the flat was currently empty save for himself, he took the opportunity to read it aloud. His deep velvet tones caressing each word. **'My dear Sherlock, I hope you are enjoying my little gifts, as much as I am enjoying giving them to you. As you have probably seen, today's gift to you is five gold bells. Even though it is not New Year's Eve until tomorrow, I wanted to give you the bells today so that you will have them to ring in the new year when it comes. Though please remember that you live in Baker Street, not Downton Abbey, the bells are **_**not**_** to be used to summon people to carry out your every whim! Always, Your True Love.'**

An expression of confusion crossed his face, "_why would I forget where I lived_" thought Sherlock, then realising it was probably a popular culture reference, he picked up his 'phone and typed out a text to John "What is Downton Abbey? SH"


	6. On the sixth day

A/N: I'm so pleased that people seem to be enjoying this story, if you are, please send me a review to let me know. They make me smile! :-) Okay, from now on, the gifts become increasingly more tenuous, I apologise for that, hopefully you (the reader) will just think it's quirky and sweet as opposed to odd and weird ;-P

Still don't own, wish I did! :) Please enjoy!

On the 6th day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

31st December – New Years Eve.

Sherlock was bored, it had been a week since John had gone to visit his sister, and three days since he'd had anything like a decent case from the metropolitan police, it would appear that criminals along with the rest of the country also liked to spend Christmas at home with their families, eating too much, and watching crap telly. His boredom had reached such a point, he had even taken a look at the file his brother had left a couple of days before, texting Mycroft with the results of his deductions.

Picking up his mobile 'phone, Sherlock glared at the screen as though trying to will it to ring. It remained stubbornly silent, the only sound in the flat was the rain lashing against the windows, quickly he checked the signal, but it was the full five bars, so the network hadn't gone down in the storm. He hadn't even received a reply from John to his query regarding Downton Abbey, though that may have more to do with him texting John to inform him (politely, he felt), that his sister was still drinking even though she had promised that she had given it up completely.

Putting down his mobile, he stood up and walked over to the desk. The jigsaw had been filled in a little more thanks to the previous day's gift of a further 200 pieces. There was another songbird, a nightingale this time plus a number of pieces which fitted together to show trees and other pieces of greenery, which seems to be a suitable background for a jigsaw consisting mostly of birds. There were however some pieces that didn't seem to fit anywhere at the present time. There were several that appeared to have parts of an animal's legs on them and part of what looked like a hoof, so a mammal of some kind. There were also some that had some kind of writing. It appeared to be rather like the 'script' font found in probably every word processing package on every computer in the world. Unfortunately there weren't enough pieces to make sense of it as yet.

Heaving a huge sigh, Sherlock turned back to his chair and was just about to sit down again, when he heard Mrs. Hudson making her way up the stairs. Going to the door to the flat, he opened it with a flourish just as his landlady reached the top of the staircase.

'Ooh, hello dear.' giggled the elderly woman. 'Isn't the weather just awful, it's raining cats and dogs out there, that's a funny little saying, I wonder where it comes from? Well never mind. Your parcel has turned up, it's a bit wet. I hope your gift hasn't been ruined.'

Sherlock took the package from his elderly landlady with barely a grunt, and looking down at her, he raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Realising her presence was no longer required, she gave him a motherly pat on his forearm, and turning to go back to her own rooms, she said 'Well I hope you have a happy New Year dear, I'm going to just stay up and watch Big Ben on the tv before going to bed, so I'll say goodnight.'

Sherlock mumbled a quiet goodnight and turned back to the flat. He placed the parcel on the coffee table and began to examine it. Mrs. Hudson had rather understated the condition of the parcel. Sherlock supposed that when it had first been wrapped, it had been as neat as the previous five packages had been. Unfortunately the heavy rain had taken it's toll on the plain brown paper, Sherlock could see that parts of the wrapping had begun to tear where it had obviously been handled by himself and Mrs. Hudson. Pulling the wrapping open by using one of the aforementioned holes, Sherlock removed the jigsaw pieces, kept mercifully dry by the sealed clear plastic bag, and placed them to one side. What Sherlock saw next, made him blink in surprise, lying in front of him was a clear plastic police evidence bag, containing a plain white envelope with his name printed on the front.

Opening the bag, Sherlock removed the envelope. Once he had opened the envelope he saw there were two pieces of white paper and several coloured leaflets inside. He removed them all and noticed that one of the letters had a logo on the top. Recognising the logo as that of the RSPB, he opened the letter and began to read. **'Dear Sir/Madam, we thank you for the anonymous donation made on behalf of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. We enclose several leaflets containing information as to where your donation will be spent and to show you the much needed work we carry out to protect the bird population of the UK. Kindest Regards, Yours faithfully,'** this was then followed by an illegible signature and a line stating it was signed by the treasurer of the London branch of the RSPB. Flicking through the enclosed leaflets, Sherlock noted several snippets of information about breeding and migratory habits that may one day prove useful in the detection of a crime. Putting them to one side with a promise to himself to study them at greater length later, Sherlock picked up the other sheet of paper and started reading, **'My dear Sherlock, for your sixth gift, you will have already seen that I have donated a sum of money in your name to the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. I hope you will find it pleasing and the leaflets interesting. You never know, maybe one day, knowledge of the bird population of the UK will aid you in your work. May I also wish you a very Happy New Year my love. I hope 2014 brings you, your heart's desire. Always, Your True Love.'**

As he put the note down, his mobile chimed a text alert. Opening the text, Sherlock read the words on his 'phone "Happy New Year Sherlock. JW". Sherlock grinned as he sent his reply. John had forgiven him.


	7. On the seventh day

A/N: Wow, two chapters in one day! (don't hold your breath as I don't think this will be a regular thing). This chapter is much shorter than the others, but hopefully you will enjoy it just as much. If you do, please send a review and let me know :-) I would like to thank all of the people who have reviewed so far, you make my day so much more special! Thank you :-D

Still don't own, wish I did! Please enjoy :-)

On the 7th day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

1st January – New Years Day

The pounding of feet on the stairs dragged Sherlock from his mind palace where he had been considering all he knew about his mysterious secret admirer. He growled in frustration, he was so close, he could almost feel the answer. Sitting upright, he turned to the door as Detective Inspector Lestrade walked into the flat, and just like four days ago, he came bearing gifts, well one particular gift. Sherlock held out his hand for Lestrade to give him the package.

Handing over the meticulously wrapped parcel, Greg asked, 'So how have you been, I haven't seen you for a few days? Heard any more as to when John's due back?'

Sherlock placed the parcel on to the coffee table and began to examine it. There was nothing of any real value to be noted about this particular package other than it felt soft and squishy to the touch. Opening the package, he replied 'I am quite well thank you Inspector, though becoming increasingly bored. Please tell me you have a case for me, and that you didn't just come to the flat because of your insatiable curiosity regarding my daily gifts. As to John's return, I am currently unsure of his exact plans, though he did send me a text yesterday evening to wish me a happy New Year.'

The inspector blushed slightly when Sherlock mentioned his reason for visiting as it was precisely why Greg had made the decision to visit the young consulting detective. In a futile effort to deflect Sherlock, Greg looked down at the parcel and asked, 'so what did your 'true love' send you today, it's seven swans, yeah?'

A smirk began to cross Sherlock's face, as he too looked down at the parcel on the table below him. However, the expression on his face changed rapidly to one of confusion tinged with a little fear when he saw the sealed clear plastic bag of jigsaw pieces surrounded by a rather large amount of wool. "_Oh God!_" thought Sherlock, "_my mystery admirer hates me, he or she has given me a woollen jumper!_" Moving the jigsaw pieces out of the way, Sherlock pulled at a piece of the wool, extremely surprised when a long scarf made from what appeared to be the finest cashmere wool came away in his hands. Folding it carefully and putting it to one side, he picked up another piece. This too turned out to be a scarf. Eventually, after several minutes of pulling and folding, all that was left in the wrapping was a sheet of paper containing a note from his 'true love', and at the side were seven neatly folded cashmere scarves. Sherlock glanced across at his companion, and saw the same expression of surprise on the older man's face as was on his own.

Reaching down once more, Sherlock picked up the note and realising that Lestrade would also wish to hear it's contents, began to read aloud. **'My dear Sherlock, as you are now aware, my seventh gift to you is seven scarves. I hope you will allow me a little poetic license when I tell you my reasoning behind this unusual gift. I give you the scarves, one for every day of the week, so that you may wrap them around your beautiful swan-like neck. They will keep you snug and warm during your visits to crime scenes. Stay safe and well, my love. Always, Your True Love.'**

Placing the note back on to the coffee table, Sherlock picked up one of the scarves. Running it through his fingers, he felt the softness of the wool against his hand, instantly recognising how much softer it would feel against the more sensitive skin at his throat. Slowly and carefully, he placed the scarf around his neck, revelling in the warm, cosy feeling he got as he tied it securely in place.

Greg smiled softly as he saw the young detective run the ends of the scarf repeatedly through his fingers, marvelling at the softness of the wool.

'Well, I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Someone definitely cares for you kiddo!' remarked Lestrade with a grin, as he too picked up a scarf from the pile, only for it to be pulled out of his hands by the scowling young man stood at his side.

Lestrade laughed quietly to himself as he turned and walked back downstairs to the street below. "_Sherlock would never change. It still felt as though he was dealing with a child every time he had any dealings with the man._" he thought fondly as he climbed into his car and drove away.

A/N: See, I told you the gifts would veer into the strange and tenuous! Oooh errr, please don't hate me!


	8. On the eighth day

A/N: So, once again a brilliant episode for Steven Moffatt & Mark Gatiss, can't wait for episode 3 :-) I hope you enjoy this chapter, if you do, please let me know by sending me a review. Thank you. :-)

On the 8th day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

2nd January

Mycroft huffed in exasperation as he walked up the stairs to 221B once more. He didn't fully understand how it happened, but Sherlock always managed to come out of every encounter with their parents smelling of roses. Just because he was the 'baby of the family!' he was forgiven every time, no matter what he said. Mycroft had worked hard to suppress his own natural tendencies to speak before thinking, so why couldn't Sherlock do the same, but "_oh no, one can't tell poor little Sherlock off for telling their great aunt all about her husband's philandering ways, he's only young, he doesn't understand._" Mycroft growled in frustration as the old, forgotten memories resurfaced. Walking into his brother's flat, he froze in amazement at the sight that greeted him. Sherlock was stood in the middle of the flat surrounded by at least half a dozen cardboard boxes, and enough polystyrene packaging material to fill Wembley Stadium three times over.

'Don't tell me all of this is from your secret admirer, brother dear?' asked Mycroft as he came out of his momentary stupor.

'Hmm? No, of course not! What do you want this time Mycroft? Are you upset because mother and father wouldn't take your side earlier?' asked Sherlock, affecting a child's voice while speaking of their parents.

'Oh grow up, Sherlock. At least I won't be on the wrong end of Mrs. Hudson's wrath when she sees the state of this room, dear brother, and I am sure that will be nothing to how John will react when he sees the mess you've made.' stated Mycroft with an air of superiority in his voice and a barely concealed smirk on his lips when he thought of how upset his brother's landlady and flatmate would be.

Sherlock scowled, knowing he was beaten. 'I'll have it all sorted by the time either of them come any where near ...' Sherlock froze mid sentence as he heard his elderly landlady call her habitual greeting as she walked up the stairs.

Mycroft's smirk became more pronounced as he watched the fear of being caught cross his younger brother's face.

'Help me!' Sherlock hissed as he heard Mrs. Hudson climb the final few stairs to the flat.

Mycroft's raised eyebrow perfectly conveyed his amusement at his brother's predicament. Sherlock gave a low growl, and whispered 'Please!'

Rolling his eyes in resignation, Mycroft walked over to the door of the flat and opened it just wide enough to put his head through the gap, all the while wondering if it wasn't just his parents who indulged the younger Holmes. Pasting on his best 'politician' smile, Mycroft spoke to the elderly woman as she stood with her hand already outstretched to push open the door. 'Mrs. Hudson, it is so good to see you again, I hope you are keeping well?'

'Oh, quite well, thank you dear, I just came up to see Sherlock, another parcel has come for him, so I thought I'd better bring it up.' Mrs. Hudson replied as she held up a package wrapped as ever in plain brown paper, 'only it's rather heavy.'

'Please, allow me to unburden you, Mrs. Hudson. I'm rather afraid that Sherlock is a little busy at the moment, he's conducting an experiment, and you know what he's like. Anyway, I'll just take this from you and let you get on.' answered Mycroft, pulling the package towards himself, as his face began to ache from maintaining the smile for considerably longer than he normally would be required to do.

'Well, thank you, that's very kind of you!' Mrs. Hudson said as she began to walk back down the stairs to her own flat. As she reached halfway, she turned and looked back at Mycroft and said 'Oh and tell Sherlock that he'd better have tidied up whatever mess he's made before tomorrow, otherwise it's coming off his rent, okay?'

Mycroft grinned and inclined his head in a nod before pulling himself and the package back into the flat, and closing the door. Turning around he surveyed the flat and sighed in weary frustration. If anything, the flat was now in a worse state than before. All of the boxes had been emptied and there were dozens of pieces of laboratory glassware on every available surface.

'Where on earth did you get all of this stuff, Sherlock?' asked Mycroft as he moved several beakers and volumetric flasks to the other side of the coffee table to put down the package he currently held in his hands.

'A small laboratory across town has recently gone out of business, and they were selling off their equipment cheap, so I decided to add to my stores. I wanted to buy one of their GCMS's but I don't have enough space in my room, and I don't think John would appreciate me commandeering his room. I'll just have to keep using the ones at Bart's instead.' Sherlock replied. ' I see Mrs. Hudson brought up another parcel.'

Picking up several pieces of glassware, Sherlock placed them back into one of the boxes and carried it to his room. Doing the same with the rest of the boxes, he eventually cleared most of the equipment away. Then sitting down, he picked up the parcel and began to study it. The package was heavy, though not as heavy as the one he had received three days before when it had contained the five bells. Unable to discern anything further, Sherlock opened the package. In front of him was another bag of jigsaw pieces, the note from his admirer, and an insulated cool bag that is commonly used for picnics to keep food fresh. Unzipping the bag, Sherlock looked inside and pulled out a two pint plastic container of milk. Greater investigation showed that there were three more such containers. All four of them had printed labels attached, two stated that they were for experiments only while the other two stated that they were not to be used for experiments under any circumstances.

Sherlock then picked up the note and, knowing that Mycroft would delight in causing him trouble, and not really in the mood for another scuffle with his older brother, if he tried to hide the contents of the note from him, Sherlock read it aloud for his brother to hear. **'My dear Sherlock, as my eighth gift, I give you eight pints of milk. Do Not use them all for your experiments! You need to stay strong and healthy, and drinking milk, whether on it's own or with other things will help you in this. I also enclose the final 200 pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, I hope it has kept you amused my love. Always, Your True Love.'**

Placing the note back on to the table, Sherlock picked up the four containers of milk and walked into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he placed the milk to be used for experiments on his designated experiment shelf, and the other two containers in the door compartment. Walking back to the table he collected the jigsaw pieces and made his way over to the desk, where he proceeded to open the bag and lay out the pieces before taking his seat in front of the unfinished puzzle. Observing the jigsaw, Sherlock noted that, with the jigsaw pieces from the previous two days added in, the four songbirds were virtually complete, and most of the background greenery had also been filled in. Slowly and methodically, Sherlock began to fill in the rest of the puzzle, stopping only briefly to slap Mycroft's hand away when his older brother came to the desk and attempted to pick up and place one of the pieces himself.

Finally the jigsaw was complete. The four songbirds made up the four corners. In the centre, standing proud and tall, was a magnificent Stag, his antlers were truly awe inspiring and could easily give Sir Edwin Landseer's painting 'The Monarch of the Glen' a run for it's money. Just below the stag, positioned at it's feet was a small robin, the vibrant red breast standing out amongst the browns and greens of the rest of the picture. Finally scrawled across the bottom in beautiful flowing script were the words '_**Yours Always!**_'

Sherlock frowned in confusion, as he glanced up at his brother, who was looking at the jigsaw with a slight smile on his face.

Sherlock scowled as he said 'you know who it is, don't you?'

'Good afternoon, brother dear.' replied Mycroft as he turned and walked out of the door, his smile widening as he made his way down the stairs.


	9. On the ninth day

A/N: Okay, firstly, apologies for not getting this up sooner. Secondly, this is the first time I've written Molly, I'm not entirely sure I like how it turned out, but I thought I'd give it a go (please don't hate me if she isn't how you see her). Thirdly, I came up with the idea for day nine's gift a week before Christmas when I was planning this story, before series 3 began, I know you may not believe me, but I swear it's the truth! :)

If you like this story, please review, I enjoy receiving them :-). I still don't own any of this!

Please enjoy! :-D

On the 9th day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

3rd January

The door to the laboratory swung open as Molly pushed her way inside, both arms full of files threatening to spill over. Putting them down on the first workbench she came to, Molly noticed that all of the lights were already switched on. As she looked around the large room, she saw the brown curly hair of her favourite consulting detective as he bent over his work, thoroughly absorbed in his latest experiment.

Molly cleared her throat and with a shy smile, she stammered, 'H-hi, Sherlock.'

There was no response as Sherlock continued to work at the bench. Suddenly a message flashed up on the computer monitor situated to the left of his work area. Putting down his beaker and glass stirring rod, Sherlock glanced across at the monitor and smiled in satisfaction. Hitting a few keys on the keyboard, he pulled up a report of the results from his most recent sample to have been run through the Mass Spectrometer, then picking up his notebook and a pen, he jotted down a few notes. Realising that he was no longer alone, he looked up and saw Molly watching him from the doorway.

'Ah Molly, there you are. I need you to run some tests for me later. I've prepared the samples for analysis.' stated Sherlock as he leaned over and picked up a box from the floor, placing it on the bench.

'Okay.' replied Molly with a smile, as she stepped forward to take a look through the box, at the assembled samples. 'Did you have a nice Christmas?'

'No! The criminals were mind-numbingly boring. There were no decent crimes at all' Sherlock answered sulkily, his brow drawing down into a petulant frown.

'Oh ... okay.' Molly rapidly lapsed into silence, unsure how to respond further to Sherlock's remark. She looked around in desperation, searching for a change of subject. Noticing Sherlock's coat, Molly smiled and said, 'that's a nice badge on your lapel.'

Looking across at where his coat was lying on the bench, Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, when he glanced across at the young woman. Eyes narrowing in thought, Sherlock stared hard as he closed his mouth, his piercing blue gaze devouring every detail of the white coated pathologist standing in front of him. "_Is it Molly?_" thought Sherlock. He had initially dismissed her as unimportant, but maybe that was all a big bluff. "_Was she intelligent enough to do all of this? Well she does occasionally assist him in his experiments, though it is mostly the fetching and carrying. Obviously she was nowhere near as intelligent as he, himself, was but very few people were._" Sherlock thought with a quiet sigh, as the memory of all of the gifts he had received so far whizzed through his mind.

Pulling himself out of his reverie, Sherlock watched as Molly became more nervous, the longer the silence lasted. He smirked slightly as he reached out a hand to lightly caress the gift he had received for day two. Watching the young doctor out of the corner of his eye as he stroked the metal surface, he replied 'yes, it's lovely, isn't it? Such a thoughtful gift, wouldn't you say ... Molly?'

Molly's eyes darted to his as a light blush covered her cheeks. 'A ... g-gift?' she stuttered.

'Mm, yes.' replied Sherlock, as he removed his hand from the badge, picked up his coat and began to put it on, standing up as he did so. Pulling his new scarf from his pocket, he wound it around his neck and walked over to the door. As he pushed his way through the opening door, he leant back, looked Molly directly in the eyes and said, 'I'll need those results by tomorrow morning. Okay?' before smiling widely and walking out into the corridor and on to the street outside.

Arriving back at Baker Street, Sherlock strode up the stairs to the flat, and opened the door. Standing in the doorway, Sherlock looked around, his brain cataloguing all of the changes that had occurred while he had been at St. Bart's. Mrs. Hudson had been in, tidying again. Lestrade had also visited, that insatiable curiosity of his. Sherlock grinned.

Sherlock froze, something was out of place, something new, something that hadn't been there when he had left the flat that morning. Laying on the coffee table was an A4 sized plain brown envelope. Moving closer, he saw his name printed on the front. Sherlock picked it up and examined it. The envelope was completely unremarkable, and could easily be purchased from any stationery shop or post office. Opening it, Sherlock pulled out two sheets of paper, one of which looked like a voucher of some kind. Looking down at it, his eyes widened in surprised delight as his lips curved upwards in a rare genuine smile. He placed the voucher back down on to the coffee table and opened up the other sheet of paper to read the note printed on it. **'My dear Sherlock, not too much longer to go before I reveal my identity to you, or maybe you have already guessed, my beautiful genius. For day nine, I enclose for your pleasure a gift certificate for the royal ballet at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden. I hope you will find a performance you wish to see, and maybe you can be persuaded to take a friend. Always, Your True Love.'**

Sherlock smiled softly as he thought of the pleasure he would get from seeing the men and women of the royal ballet perform on stage. Picking up his mobile, he logged on to their website to look at the upcoming season for the possibilities open to him.


	10. On the tenth day

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has been reviewing this story. Please continue, and all those of you who are enjoying it but have not yet reviewed. Go on, do it, you know you want to ;-P

So just two more chapters to go after this. :-D

As ever, I don't own this (shame). Please enjoy. :-)

On the 10th day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

4th January

The blue light from the police car in the street below was casting strange shadows on the walls of 221B Baker Street. DI Lestrade stood in the doorway, his hands resting on his hips as he looked down at the young man-child who was currently lying on the sofa with his back to the room. Sighing wearily, Greg repeated the words he had already spoken three times since climbing the stairs to the flat. 'Sherlock, I really don't have time to play games. There is a murderer running loose around London. Will you help?'

Sherlock huffed in response, reminding Lestrade of a toddler who is seconds away from jamming his thumb in his mouth and demanding his 'blankie' The DI groaned, and turned to walk back down the stairs, saying as he left, 'I'll text you the address of the victim, I would appreciate your input!'

Seeing Mrs. Hudson standing at the bottom of the stairs, Greg stopped and turning to her, he asked, 'What is his problem? He was fine, well, fine for Sherlock, the last time I saw him a few days ago.'

Mrs. Hudson sighed as she answered 'his brother came over earlier, I heard them arguing about that jigsaw puzzle Sherlock's been doing. There's a clue in it apparently, and Mycroft has worked it out, but Sherlock hasn't managed to as yet. Mycroft was winding him up about it, so Sherlock's sulking. Though a nice murder should put him right, there's nothing that young boy likes more than a nice juicy murder, inspector. Though, of course, he's also missing John. I hope he comes back soon, the place just isn't the same without him.'

Greg looked a little shocked when he heard Mrs. Hudson's comment about a 'nice juicy murder', but considering she rented a flat to the young consulting genius, he decided to just ignore it in favour of her other observations. 'So he still doesn't know who his mystery admirer is then? That must be galling for him, he hates not knowing.' Lestrade replied. 'Well anyway, I'd better go, the crime isn't going to solve itself. Take care of yourself, Mrs. Hudson, and don't let Sherlock get too demanding.'

Opening the outer door, Greg paused as he looked down and saw a familiar brown parcel. Bending down, he picked it up and moved back into the hallway of 221, calling out to Mrs. Hudson as he did so.

'There's been another delivery, Mrs. Hudson.'

'Oh, I'll take it up to him, I'll make him a nice cup of tea, and take him up some of those biscuits he likes, I made a fresh batch a few days ago, I should have a few left. You run along, inspector, you don't want to keep the others waiting, dear.' said Mrs. Hudson.

'Well ... if you're making tea? Have you got any of those chocolate biscuits with the oaty bits in them? Maybe it will be fourth time lucky with a cup of tea inside him, I can try to talk Sherlock around, get him to visit the crime scene' replied Greg, a soft pleading smile crossing his face, his warm brown eyes showing a remarkable resemblance to a lost puppy.

'Oh, very well, just this once mind, I'm Sherlock's landlady, not the housekeeper.' stated Mrs. Hudson, trying, and failing, to sound angry at being taken for granted in such a manner.

Greg's mouth widened into a grin as he pulled out his mobile to send a text to Sergeant Donovan informing her that he would be delayed.

A short time later, the detective inspector carrying a tray of tea, and biscuits, followed Mrs. Hudson who was carrying the neatly wrapped package up the stairs to flat 221B. The door was opened and they walked in. Sherlock had finally decided to get up from the sofa, and was now sitting at the desk, studying the finished jigsaw. The four songbirds, the stag and the robin all staring up at him mocking his lack of understanding. "_What had Mycroft seen, that he had missed._" thought Sherlock as his hands gripped his curls in frustration. Hearing the sound of the door opening, he turned in his seat. His eyes narrowing, Sherlock glared at the two visitors.

'I thought you'd gone Lestrade! Didn't you say something about not having time to "play games"?' said Sherlock sarcastically, then noticing the tea tray, he smirked as he continued, ' Oh, but I see that your love of tea overrides any feeling of civic duty you may possess.'

Mrs. Hudson looked disapprovingly across at her young tenant, from her position at the coffee table, where she had been pouring out the tea and filling a plate with biscuits. Sherlock catching the look, which was so similar to John's when he had said something the doctor would not like, in his peripheral vision, grimaced slightly, before standing up, walking over to the table and collecting his cup from his landlady with a small thank you.

'In the interests of keeping the peace, I'll ignore that little dig. You've got another gift from your secret admirer.' replied the inspector, glancing at the package on the table where Mrs. Hudson had placed it when she walked in.

Picking it up, Sherlock checked it as usual, and finding nothing further of interest on the wrapping, he opened it carefully and peered inside. Blinking several times in shock, he reached in and pulled out an odd shaped object using only his index finger and thumb, before dropping it back into the parcel.

In that brief moment, Greg got only a fleeting impression of cardboard and clear plastic. The sort used for packaging purposes. 'Hey! Sherlock, what is it, what did you get this time?' Greg asked, as he reached for the parcel, only to have it pulled away by the young genius. 'Sherlock! What is it?'

Sighing, Sherlock gave in to the inevitable and handed over the package, though he removed the note he had just seen before doing so. Greg looked into the parcel and raised a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. 'Oh that is good, that is a brilliant gift for ten lords a-leaping.' said Greg as soon as he had calmed himself enough to speak. Removing the gift from the parcel, he turned around to show Mrs. Hudson the action figure of David Tennant as the tenth doctor, complete with sonic screwdriver.

Mrs. Hudson smiled apologetically and said softly, 'I don't get it dear.'

Lestrade smiled in reply as he answered, 'well, he's a timelord, isn't he, the Doctor, and David Tennant was the tenth actor to play him, unless you count John Hurt in the fiftieth anniversary special, but anyway, he's generally accepted to be the tenth incarnation of the character. So ... ten timelords a-leaping.'

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as a frown creased his brow. 'You seem to know an awful lot about all of this inspector? Something you wish to share?' he asked, his gaze piercing in it's intensity.

'What?!' replied Greg incredulously. 'No! I watch it with the kids. There are plenty of people who enjoy Dr. Who, Sherlock, and there are a lot of people who know considerably more than me. Take John for instance, he watches it, and Anderson, he watches it too.'

'Oh how nice, you can start your own little fan club!' remarked Sherlock sarcastically.

'Just read us the note that came with it Sherlock.' said Lestrade as he purposely ignored Sherlock's previous comment.

Sherlock huffed, then realising he was never going to get his own way, (Lestrade had been spending way too long around John), he opened the note in his hand and began reading. **'My dear Sherlock, my gift to you is, as you have seen, the tenth timelord. I know that you do not appreciate the joy that is Doctor Who, but I felt that it was an interesting gift to present to you, my love. Please don't do any experiments on it, I don't want to find that you've melted it in the interests of science. Also if I were to be brutally honest, I couldn't think of anything else. Only two more days until I see you. I am counting the hours. Always, Your True Love.'**

Sherlock's hand lowered as he placed the note on the table and turned away plucking the box with the tenth doctor action figure inside from Lestrade's hands as he walked back to the desk and sat down in front of the jigsaw puzzle. Putting the box down, he turned to the inspector and his landlady and said quietly 'go now ... please. I need to think! Oh, and Lestrade? That murder you came to see me about? Check on the neighbour's alibi for the time of the murder.'


	11. On the eleventh day

A/N: Thanks to those of you who have sent in reviews for this story, they are always a delight to read. Please continue :-) Anyone else who is enjoying this story, please feel free to review and let me know.

I still don't own Sherlock :-( Please enjoy :-D

On the 11th day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

5th January

Sherlock picked up his violin and began playing a soft melody he had penned earlier in the month. It's haunting tone filling every inch of the empty flat. Closing his eyes, he swayed in time as he moved around the room, the layout of the chairs and tables clearly present in his mind. Finally the last note died away to silence, and Sherlock exhaled slowly before lowering his violin to his side. Once he had cleaned the instrument, loosened the strings on his bow and placed both back into the case, he sat himself down at the desk, raising his hands to their customary thinking position, he looked at the jigsaw once again. His keen gaze swept across the image as his eyes narrowed in thought, "_Why couldn't he see it? Who was sending him these gifts? Who knew him so well?_" he thought before growling in frustration.

There was a small tap-tap on the door as Mrs. Hudson pushed her way into the flat, calling out her usual greeting. 'That was a beautiful tune just now. One of yours, was it dear?' Mrs. Hudson asked as she walked up to John's chair and sat down with a sigh.

Sherlock didn't bother replying, knowing that Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be too upset. He rarely spoke when he was thinking, unless he needed more data and that job usually fell to his flatmate. Thinking of his flatmate, brought the memory of his most recent text message to the forefront of his mind. Realising, he hadn't yet mentioned it to his landlady, he turned and said, 'I received a text from John, his crisis, or whatever it was, is almost dealt with apparently, so he should be back at Baker Street soon.'

Mrs. Hudson smiled widely, pleased that both of her boys would be in residence at Baker Street soon. 'That's wonderful news. I hope whatever the problem was, it wasn't too serious.'

Sherlock huffed as he answered 'It was probably his alcoholic sister trying to drink herself into oblivion.'

'Oh, like you have never had a problem with substance abuse!' his landlady replied.

Sherlock scowled as he remarked angrily 'I was not an addict!'

Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows in an uncanny impression of Sherlock's older brother as she said 'you keep telling yourself that dear.' Then, holding out a plain brown envelope, she said 'Oh, this was pushed through the letter box this morning when I got up.'

Standing up, Sherlock walked around his armchair to where Mrs. Hudson was sat and plucked the envelope from her fingers, returning to his seat at the desk before opening it. Peering inside, Sherlock saw a single sheet of paper, which he proceeded to remove. Glancing across towards his landlady, he saw that she had moved to the edge of her seat, her doll-like features alive with curiosity as she waited avidly for Sherlock to read the note aloud. Rolling his eyes with barely disguised amusement at Mrs. Hudson's reaction, Sherlock opened the note and began to read. **'My dear Sherlock, unfortunately I do not have a gift for you today, (the reason will become clear tomorrow, my love), however, I do extend to you an invitation. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you are cordially invited to attend a function in honour of your birthday tomorrow evening at 1900hrs, to be held at New Scotland Yard in conference room five. Please be there. Always, Your True Love.'**

'Oh, my! A party for your birthday. Do you suppose your true love will show themselves Sherlock dear?' asked Mrs. Hudson, the excitement in her voice shining out of her face.

'I would say it is an absolute certainty, Mrs. Hudson.' Sherlock replied with a frustrated sigh before continuing, 'I hate birthdays, they're all so pointless! What does it matter that people have survived another year, what is there that is worth celebrating?'

Mrs. Hudson stood up and walked over to where her young tenant was sitting, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, 'what is it dear, what's wrong?'

'Nothing. There's nothing wrong, why would there be?' replied Sherlock as he tried, and failed to stand up and move away from his motherly landlady, finally giving in and answering her. 'What if, when he or she reveals themselves, it turns out to be someone I hate. I know that I'm rude to people, I'm a sociopath for crying out loud, but what do I say? John helps me usually, stops me from saying anything too dreadful, gives me little pointers, but what if he isn't there?'

'Oh Sherlock.' Mrs. Hudson smiled sadly as she pulled a tissue from her cardigan pocket and dabbed at the moisture gathering at the corner of her eyes, while patting his shoulder comfortingly with her hand.

A/N: I hope you didn't find Sherlock too OOC at the end of this chapter. One more chapter to go!


	12. On the twelfth day

A/N: So the final chapter! :-) Thank you so much to everyone who has read, favourited, followed and reviewed this story. I hope you have all enjoyed it. As I said at the start, this is the first time I have added a little mystery to my stories. I hope I managed to pull it off okay, though I think most of you have probably guessed who Sherlock's 'true love' is, so I think I still have some work to do. :-/ If you have enjoyed this story, please let me know in a review, (I love receiving them), thank you. :-)

Disclaimer: Still don't own, please enjoy! :-D

On the 12th day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

6th January Sherlock's Birthday

The clock on the mantle softly chimed the hour, drawing Sherlock from his mind palace. Releasing a sigh, he stood up and walked over to his bedroom, collecting his suit from the back of the wardrobe door as he went. After dressing, Sherlock went back to the living room, and standing in front of the mirror, he quickly adjusted his shirt collar before putting on his jacket. Taking a deep breath, he thought back to the previous evening. Maybe 'phoning Lestrade and demanding to be told all that the inspector knew of the party being held at the Yard had not been the wisest course of action, but you couldn't blame a chap for trying. Pulling on his coat, he checked to ensure the dove of peace badge was on straight, then wrapping one of his new cashmere scarves around his neck, he turned to leave, and make his way to Scotland Yard. As he was turning however, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and paused, suddenly his eyes lit up as realisation spread across his face. 'Oh, of course!' Sherlock breathed as his eyes flitted across the room, taking in some of the gifts he had received. The tenth timelord, the fact that whoever was doing this knew him so well (and cared), the jigsaw with the stag and robin, and the note from the previous day. Sherlock picked it up from the coffee table, read it again, and grinning, said quietly to himself, 'of course.'

Arriving at Scotland Yard five minutes to the appointed hour, Sherlock got out of the taxi and went inside. Easily locating conference room 5, he walked calmly through the doors to a darkened room. Suddenly the lights were switched on and the whole room seemed to burst into life.

'SURPRISE!' yelled several of the room's occupants.

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes as he calmly stated, 'I received an invitation to attend. It is hardly a surprise.'

'Oh yeah.' replied Lestrade, his face flushing a little in embarrassment.'Fancy a drink?'

'No thank you.' Sherlock answered as his eyes roamed around the room, taking in every tiny detail. The room which was normally rather large appeared somehow smaller, spinning around in a full 360 degree circle, Sherlock eventually realised why that was. At the far end of the room, away from the table that was doubling as a makeshift bar for the night, a section of the room had been cordoned off with a floor to ceiling curtain. Continuing his perusal, the young genius saw that most of the detectives he had ever worked with were in attendance, as well as Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock groaned as he saw his brother walking towards him through the crowd.

'Why are you here, Mycroft?' Sherlock asked with an expression of absolute disgust on his face.

Mycroft smirked as he replied, 'I was invited brother dear, after all, it is a party to celebrate the day of your birth, why would I not wish to be here?'

Sherlock growled as he stalked away towards the curtained area. Only to be prevented from reaching his goal by Mrs. Hudson slipping her arm through his and steering him towards the bar, saying, 'get me drink dear.'

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he matched his stride to that of his elderly landlady. 'What's behind the curtain, Mrs. Hudson?'

'I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about dear, now, I think a nice vodka and tonic would suit me, don't you dear?' replied Mrs. Hudson, whilst attempting to avoid eye contact with the young consulting detective.

Just as Sherlock was about to demand an answer, a low droning sound filled the room. Turning towards the source of the sound, Sherlock saw the curtains pull back to reveal the pipes and drums of the London Scottish Company of the London Regiment. Suddenly the universally recognisable tune of Happy Birthday filled the room. When the playing stopped and the low hum of the bagpipes died away, the entire room erupted as cheers rang out. Finally silence fell as the band parted to allow the organiser of the event to make their way to the front. The organiser squared their shoulders before marching with military precision over to where Sherlock was standing. Bright blue eyes shining with love and just a hint of fear, John stopped and stood in front of the man he loved. Holding out the red rose he carried in his hand, he said softly 'happy birthday Sherlock.'

Plucking the rose from John's fingers, Sherlock looked down at the man who meant more to him than any other human being ever had or ever would and smiled softly, relief washing over him as he realised that his last minute deduction in the flat had been correct. John Watson was his true love. Raising his hand to John's cheek, Sherlock caressed his face as he leant closer, and whispered 'thank you' before closing the gap. Meeting him halfway, John stretched up on to the balls of his feet, his arms rising to Sherlock's neck as he pressed against him, his fingers tangling in Sherlock's soft brown curls at the nape of his neck as he dragged him closer.

The complete and utter silence of the room finally penetrated their lust filled minds, and pulling away from each other slightly, John and Sherlock looked at the expressions on the faces of those around them. Most looked pleased, they had been wishing the two of them would finally realise their feelings, some looked embarrassed, watching two people attempt to snog the face off each other was not everyone's idea of a fun night out, and one or two looked a little disgusted, but that said more of themselves than John or Sherlock.

Grabbing hold of John's arm, Sherlock dragged him away to a quiet corner, glaring at anyone who came near, and proceeded to thank John in a rather inappropriate manner, considering they were both in Scotland Yard. Eventually they pulled apart as the lack of oxygen was becoming an issue.

'So, you figured it out then?' gasped John as Sherlock began attacking his neck with biting little kisses.

'Mm, yes.' mumbled Sherlock. Suddenly he pulled away, a look of confusion on his face. 'How did you get pipes and drums, you're a doctor?'

John smiled, his eyes shining with merriment as he replied 'ah yes, well a mate of mine from the field hospital in Helmand was an army musician, and he knew someone who knew someone. Now why don't you carry on from where you left off, hmm?' John then pulled Sherlock back down towards his neck, humming in approval when Sherlock got the message and continued his previous actions.


End file.
